And, right now they are all, "um what the hell was that?"
So for Memorial weekend, we packed our tents, sleeping bags, and clothes-you-wear-in-the-dirt and headed to Sunset Beach to camp.
Sleeping in the dirt. It's joyous. Well, on top of the dirt with a thin nylon material separating me and the elements.
By elements I mean millipedes, and buried barf. We'll get to that later.
But if you're going to camp, do it steps from the beach, it's amazing and kinda the best of both worlds.
And, by steps to the beach, I mean 873 steps to the beach. Walking down from the top of the hill, not so bad.
You are so in awe of the ocean and the waves crashing and the acres and acres of sand, you don't even realize in order to get back to your family, the BBQ'ed hot dogs and ready-to-roast marshmallows you have to walk back UP.
I checked my pockets, nope didn't bring my cell phone to call my hubby and ask him to send help. Or a crane. Or a rescue helicopter.
What goes down, must come back up.
My thighs woke. My calves woke. After months of bed to bathroom to kitchen to car to mailbox to couch back to bed, my legs were all, "have you heard of easing into it?"
Good thing my walking partner (Hey Mary!) felt the same. We both needed to stop and breathe hard. A lot. And cuss a little. Here we are 2 days later and we both facebooked to eachother on how bad we hurt. I was actually limping today.
Note to self...and others. Walk more. And, if you're looking for a walking partner this summer, call me, I need the exercise.
Remember the buried barf I alluded to earlier? Some little 9 year old boy, not mentioning any names, ate about 14 marshmallows, a candy bar, about 2 tsp. of sand, 2 Orange Crushes, and a full dinner not only 5 hours prior and spent the 3am hour poking his head outside our tent and puking on his shoes. Thank goodness for daddy he grabbed the shovel and covered it up so the skunks and raccoons wouldn't come sniffin' around.
See, again what goes down, comes up.
I love camping.